


Junjou Romantica

by asuralucier



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Atobe's no good very bad thirties, Divorce, Host Clubs, M/M, Pining, Post canon, Second Chances, TEZUKA ZONED, Tezuka's slightly better but unfulfilling thirties, They are old and mundane, Unresolved Sexual Tension, resolved emotional tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-16 04:08:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29201100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asuralucier/pseuds/asuralucier
Summary: “Says the guy who’s been Tezuka zoned for the better part of twenty years.” Oshitari said. He crossed his arms. “Also, just think about it for even ten seconds.Whyis Tezuka her lawyer? From what I understand, he’s recently been made partner at Baker & Baker. Those guys don't play around; they're notorious for getting sports stars out of sex scandals and similar circumstances. Not to mention…”Tezuka zonedmade Atobe wince. However, he was hardly going to dignify that with a response.*(That post-canon fic where Atobe gets a divorce, Tezuka is a lawyer, and brb Oshitari lols forever. God, they’re so old.)
Relationships: Atobe Keigo/Tezuka Kunimitsu
Comments: 7
Kudos: 10
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 6





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [karanguni](https://archiveofourown.org/users/karanguni/gifts).



> I tried to write you Atobe filing for bankruptcy, because _what_ a prompt, but tax law hurt my head so I hope you enjoy this instead. Any reference to actually how law or television works is purely coincidence and not intended.

“You should have seen your stupid face,” Oshitari opined finally, once they were alone again. He seemed entirely too relaxed given that Atobe was paying him a retainer to at least look worried. 

Atobe’s office was on the seventeenth floor of a building Atobe International used to own outright, but in the last decade, had been slowly sold off piecemeal. The building now also headquartered a mid-tier investment bank and an alternative publishing house. Unsurprisingly, since Oshitari had bought shares in it and convinced Atobe to buy shares in it too, the publishing house was a black sheep subsidiary of Mills and Boon, and had found their niche in well, alternative romance novels, and more recently, Netflix adaptations of said romance novels. All junk, really.

(But these same shares, Atobe reflected bitterly, were now being freshly contested by his soon-to-be ex-wife and her new lawyer. Not that he cared about stupid shares in a stupid publishing house. It was more the principle of the thing.) 

“You should have told me Claudia got a new attorney,” Atobe said. “ _Especially_ if it’s…” He trailed off. He couldn’t quite bring himself to say Tezuka Kunimitsu’s name, Every time he tried, his mouth dried up. Oshitari had done all the talking during the meeting, deftly covering for the fact that Atobe was, for lack of a better word, shell-shocked into silence. 

“The one who got away?” Oshitari finished, looking satisfied with himself. “Did I need to tell you that? You were there when her last lawyer had a meltdown. And you know she’s not going to come within ten miles of you without representation. So since she set the meeting today, I thought you figured that she’d at least show up with one.”

 _“Or the old you would have, anyway.”_ Oshitari kept those words to himself, but Atobe heard them loud and clear in the silence anyway. “...Tezuka didn’t get away from me. I just haven’t seen or heard from him in years.” There it was, _Tezuka Tezuka Tezuka_. He could think it, say it, and not die. 

“Anyway, this isn’t a bad deal, just from a skim.” Oshitari turned his attention towards the file that was left for their perusal. “We shift some things around, we should be able to come up with this. Deal her down a bit on maintenance, argue that you don’t have to cater to her and her fancy gin habit. Everyone can go home happy.” Oshitari hid a smirk behind his hand. “Then you’ll be single and ready to mingle, be it with—oh, prostitutes or the king of Europe or whatever.” 

“I’m _not_ going to just give her what she wants,” Atobe said, arms crossed. “And Europe doesn’t have a single king. I don’t want to know what you’ve been reading.” Oshitari did read some pretty weird stuff (that yes, probably featured Europe as a single country). 

“What Claudia probably wanted was to stay married,” Oshitari shot back quietly, switching the topic as swiftly as if he was switching to a backhand stroke. “But you were the one who made the situation untenable. Not her.” 

Atobe glared at him. “You’re supposed to be my attorney. What the _fuck_.” 

“I am your attorney, yes. Which means the truth will never leave this room. But letting you lie to yourself is no fun for me.” Oshitari touched his glasses. He had a mild prescription that he liked to think Atobe didn’t know about, but Atobe tried his best to keep up with the small details. These days, he had nothing but time.

“Asshole,” Atobe muttered, subdued. 

“At least think about it, okay?” Oshitari sighed. “We have a few days to respond. We don’t have to let this get ugly,” he paused, and corrected himself. “Well...any more ugly than it already is.” 

“She’s hired _Tezuka_ as a lawyer. Of course it’s going to get—” A loud buzz interrupted interrupted Atobe’s tirade and he snatched his phone from his pocket. It wasn’t a blocked number, nor was it a number he had saved. He picked up and started the call the way he’d started a dozen others since this whole mess had started: “Whoever you are? No comment, and you can fuck—” 

“Atobe? It’s me, Tezuka.” 

Atobe nearly dropped his phone. He managed to keep a hold of it, in the end. But then Atobe also had to sit down. “...Tezuka? I just saw you leave my office.” Not much of a greeting, but it was a start; it bought time, at least; once upon a time, Atobe was unparalleled when it came to buying all sorts of things, knowing a sound investment when he saw one. Now, not so much. 

“I’m still down in the lobby. I just put your wife in a cab.”

“Ex-wife, soon. She has a name. And you don’t have to remind me.” 

There was a slight pause on the other end, as if Tezuka was contemplating his answer. Atobe wondered if enough years had passed between now and the days of Seigaku and Hyotei and U-17 to render his response surprising. Finally, Tezuka said, “Could we meet?” 

“Sure, you can come back up here and we can talk over how ridiculous your proposal is,” Atobe said. “My lawyer is still here.” 

“I don’t want to talk about the case.” Though Tezuka added, after a moment, as if he’d just noticed how that could have sounded, “But I understand your concern and I don’t mind if you bring Oshitari with you. Have either of you had lunch?” 

If that had come out of anyone else’s mouth, Atobe would have laughed. But while Tezuka’s career seemed to have taken a few unusual turns, there was still a stringent honesty about the man that was easy to recognize, even as nothing else about Tezuka was as he knew it. Tezuka said he wanted to have lunch, and Atobe believed it. 

It was easier to say things, Atobe thought, when one was backed against the wall. The divorce was still plodding along, but he got a very bad feeling and simply skipped a few steps, saying, “...Are you asking me out? That’s sort of unethical isn’t it? Not that I’m not flattered.” 

Oshitari’s body was carefully angled away from Atobe while he was on the phone, but even from here, Atobe could spy the guy’s shoulders shaking with laughter. Halfheartedly, Atobe groped around for something he could throw at the back of Oshitari’s head. He found himself stuck between a pen and a paperweight. The paperweight was tempting, but Atobe had to admit, Oshitari had earned his keep just for today, along with the right of not ending up in hospital with a concussion. 

“Yes, but just for lunch, and it’s not unethical if we don’t speak about your divorce.” This time Tezuka added, “Do you want to speak about your divorce?” 

“It’s been how many years, and you still have not even the slightest clue how to take a joke.” Atobe sighed, as if he was tremendously put upon. “No, I don’t want to speak about my divorce. Glad we cleared the air.” 

(Oshitari looked like he was dying, about to burst with laughter and Atobe resolved not to drive him to hospital if this was indeed the case.) 

“Then that’s fine. I’m staying in Asakusa, perhaps we can find somewhere to eat there?” 

Questions swirled in Atobe’s mind; not least of which 1.) why Tezuka was staying in Asakusa when his parents lived in Kichijoji clear across town and 2.) it was true that their meeting had awkwardly straddled a lunch hour and it’d been entirely arranged through secretaries and executive assistants, but if Tezuka was really that hungry, he could have gone through the proper channels and requested that the meeting be moved. 

Also on the forefront of Atobe’s mind, was 3.) Asakusa was possibly out of the way enough of Tokyo, to be sat on her northeast fringe that he could actually eat in peace. So it almost sounded like Tezuka was doing him a favor.

“Asakusa’s fine. I’ll need a couple minutes.” 

“Take all the time you need,” Tezuka said, and then hung up. 

By this time, Oshitari seemed to have recovered. He took a seat opposite Atobe’s desk, and proceeded to act as if nothing was wrong, the picture of serene seriousness. “As your lawyer, I’d be remiss if I didn’t tell you to...how do I put this, not be romanced by opposing counsel?” 

“Yeah, and that’s why I pay you the big bucks.” 

“Honestly.” 

“What could happen?” Atobe shrugged. “It’s _Tezuka_. If he wants to get lunch it’s probably all he wants.” 

“Says the guy who’s been Tezuka zoned for the better part of twenty years.” Oshitari said. He crossed his arms. “Also, just think about it for even ten seconds. You practically said it yourself already. _Why_ is Tezuka her lawyer? From what I understand, he’s recently been made partner at Baker & Baker. Those guys don’t play around; they’re notorious for getting sports stars out of sex scandals and similar circumstances. Not to mention…”

 _Tezuka zoned_ made Atobe wince. However, he was hardly going to dignify that with a response. “Do you think Claudia told him?” 

“I’m just saying anything’s possible,” Oshitari said, in what Atobe had come to think of as his “lawyer” voice. “Look, I can’t stop you from doing anything stupid, but please don’t make things catastrophically difficult for me?” 

“I pay you too much for things to be easy,” Atobe said, and it was mostly a joke. He was liking jokes more and more these days, which was terrible. Humor was a crutch on par with dating someone ten years younger, something else he tried not to think about. Atobe got up and reached for his jacket. 

Oshitari switched tack. “How about the other thing that you said you’d do?” 

“I said I’d do it, and I’ll let you know when it’s done,” Atobe said. “Don’t nag me.”

“I’m just thinking ahead to formal depositions. They’ll start soon if we all can’t agree.” Oshitari swiveled his chair around so that they were face to face again. “Do it before then. In fact, do it tomorrow.” 

“All right, all right. I’m going.” Atobe laid his hand on the doorknob and remembered something else. “Hey. What do you think of when you think of Asakusa?” 

“The fact that geisha still work there?” It wasn’t an untrue answer, but it was also the entirely wrong answer. And Oshitari was never wrong unless he meant to be. 

Atobe started to flip him the bird, and then remembered himself. “Will you do something about that while I’m away?” He gestured at the file that was now on his desk. 

Oshitari made a face at it. “Okay. Do what?” 

“Well, for starters, renegotiate. Tell her we’re amenable, but the shares in the publishing house aren’t up for grabs. She can’t just have what she wants.” 

“Said the pot to the kettle.” Oshitari sighed. “Told you should have signed a prenup.” 

Atobe found Tezuka sitting on a sofa directly facing the lifts in the lobby. He looked entirely at home in his nice suit and tie, as if he’d belonged. The version of Tezuka that Atobe had in his head was at home in formal situations, but to know his way around _finery_ , that was another thing entirely. Tezuka seemed to be unaware that he was sitting on a couch worth nearly a hundred thousand yen. But at the same time, he seemed not to care. 

Atobe approached him, performatively sheepish. “I’m sorry that I took so long.” 

“There’s no need to apologize,” Tezuka said. “I said I’d wait.” 

“You sound like you’re starving though.” Atobe fixed him with a curious look. “You could have called to move the meeting. Or we could have eaten during. There are a few places around here that do nice bentos.” 

Tezuka made a sound in his throat. Atobe couldn’t tell it from good or bad, either way. There was no telling from what he said, either, which was, “You haven’t changed a bit.” 

“You’re insulting me, aren’t you?” That might have bothered him at some point, but Atobe suddenly felt very far away from that point. “Tell you what, I never thought Claudia’s new lawyer would be...you.” Stripped of all his defenses, Atobe had no choice but to tell the truth. Running out of options was a thing that happened now this side of thirty, and it pissed him off. 

Tezuka looked completely unfazed. He asked, “Were you expecting someone else?”

“No. Yes. I don’t know what I was expecting,” Atobe said, mostly to himself. “Anyway, we can use my car. I’ve already instructed my driver. What’s in Asakusa?” 

On the other hand, once Atobe really settled in and thought about it, he could see an affinity between Tezuka and the quiet, and yet touristy suburb of Asakusa. Besides boasting shrines practically around every corner, this part of the city was also home to a number of izakayas that weren’t too busy given that it was only the afternoon. Tezuka recommended one near the ryokan where he was staying and Atobe was surprised again. 

“It’s not a permanent arrangement, obviously,” Tezuka said. They’d settled into a dimly lit booth in a corner and were left alone with a few plates of snacks and a bottle of sake. This place afforded them privacy, Atobe realized, and he nearly felt grateful. “But the firm said they’d foot the bill until I found a place I like. Provided I work my hours like everyone else.”

“Oshitari said you’d made partner at Baker & Baker. Congratulations, I guess. Consider this drink on me.” Atobe raised his cup and skimmed a sip of sake afterward. “I didn’t know they took divorce cases.” 

“I thought we weren’t speaking about your divorce.” 

“We’re not speaking about my divorce.” Atobe parried. “We’re speaking generally.” 

“Then generally we sometimes have clients who get divorced. Does that surprise you?” 

Every once in a while, Atobe thought of Tezuka, the way that he also thought of his other schoolmates at Hyotei and beyond. He was in no way Tezuka zoned, and he felt obligated to list exactly who it was he thought of exactly. When he got to six people, which was a respectable number in his head, he stopped. 

“Why have you invited me to lunch?” Tezuka’s question made his head hurt, so Atobe hit back with one of his own. 

Tezuka seemed to have had an answer half prepared, as he didn’t take too long to “I might work for Claudia, but some of the things she’s asked me for, I thought I might be able to deliver better if I understood you again. Consider this a personal curiosity.” 

Again with that barefaced honesty, as if Tezuka honestly meant it to be a lie. Atobe distracted himself with a bit of sour pickle and pushed on. “And so it comes to light. What do you mean by ‘again’, exactly? I thought you said I haven’t changed.” 

Tezuka emptied his cup of sake and topped himself up. On second thought, he judged the amount in Atobe’s cup and topped him up too. The idea that Tezuka as his soon-to-be-ex-wife’s lawyer was trying to get him drunk to weasel secrets out of him was devastatingly funny. He couldn’t help but laugh, and not charitably either, but mostly at himself. 

Tezuka was still looking at him. “Would you like me to answer that?” 

“Not really. Let me live on in ignorance.” 

Still, there was something easy about this; something that reminded Atobe of way back when. When Tezuka would call him up while he was still holding out hopes of a long, storied career in professional tennis while he was in Berlin for rehab. At first, it was just to practice his German. And then they’d talked about all sorts of things. Law had never come up. Then again, in all fairness, neither did divorce. 

And then the calls had simply stopped. Something that Atobe hadn’t ever told anyone about, not even Oshitari. 

Looking around for something else easy, Atobe took another sip of sake. “Why are you staying in a ryokan when you could stay with your parents? I didn’t even know you were back in Japan.” 

“They asked me the same thing,” Tezuka said, shrugging. “But I’m in my thirties. Maybe I don’t want to live at home. I’ll come over for dinner as often as they’d like, but I’d feel odd sleeping in my childhood bedroom.” 

“You mean, old.” 

“I mean ‘odd.’” Tezuka said, with a bit of emphasis. 

“I still live at home.” Atobe mused to himself. “But mostly by myself. My parents are spending more and more time in Mallorca. I think they actually want to retire there. As if they could be any more retired.” (Himself, and a skeleton staff, but he didn’t feel like mentioning that particular detail.) 

“Mallorca.” Tezuka looked mildly surprised. “Not Berlin?” 

“Too cold. Plus, we sold the place, years ago. I’m surprised Claudia doesn’t talk your ear off about it.” 

“Even if she did, I wouldn’t tell you.” Tezuka reached across the table to help himself to a yakitori skewer. It apparently met his approval and he ate it quickly, albeit neatly, after the first bite. 

“So what you’re really saying is, you’ve invited me out to screw me.” They both winced. But Atobe was a bit more prepared, and he thought he detected something else that he wasn’t quite expecting to see. 

Tezuka Kunimitsu was an honest person, after all. 

“I wouldn’t have put it quite in those terms.” Tezuka looked away from him briefly and then drank more sake. “I more meant—when I have a job to do, I’d like to do it well, to the utmost of my ability. If anyone knows that about me, you do.” 

“I just about know that about you, sure.” Atobe wanted another cup of sake. However, they were near empty now, and he didn’t want to order another, or seem rude or desperate taking the dregs. 

“You also have some experience not taking things personally.” 

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?” 

Tezuka regarded him evenly. The picture of calm, and it made Atobe want to punch him in the face. This time, Tezuka took a moment to consider his words. “It means I read. I don’t like gossip, but apparently your divorce is of some interest to the public.” 

“That’s one way to put it.” Atobe shrugged. “I assume you’re also helping her sue _Friday_. If you need anything from me, let Oshitari know. I don’t know everything, but I know it was getting complicated before her previous lawyer um, left.” 

Tezuka nearly looked as if he was gearing up to ask Atobe something slightly improper. His whole thought process was on display on his face. Clearly, the man wasn’t used to thinking this way, or else he would have done well to keep most of it to himself. 

Atobe thought he’d save Tezuka the trouble. He said, “I don’t hate her. I’m not going to insult you by saying I don’t want a divorce and make you talk sense into her. But I hope Claudia and I can be civil, in a couple of years, maybe.” 

For a long time, Tezuka said nothing. And then he emptied his cup of sake and reached for the bottle. Almost as if he wasn’t expecting its weightlessness, he put it down again, said, “I know.” 

_He knew_. Tezuka knew. Knew what? 

Suddenly, Atobe felt the urge to flee. The urge had always been with him, but now it made itself known, and he couldn’t even swallow it. “I’d better go. Did I satiate your curiosity?” 

Tezuka said, “Not yet. But I don’t want to keep you. Thanks for giving me a ride back.” 

“Don’t mention it.” Atobe was glad to avert his eyes and reach for his shoes, tucked neatly under the ledge of his seat. He’d never thought he’d hate honesty so fucking much.


	2. Chapter 2

“Did you tell Claudia you’d help her with her lawsuit?” Oshitari sounded annoyed, resigned, and he was also possibly inhaling his tenth cup of coffee. “ _Friday_ ’s lawyers just called me for a comment. Asked if we were getting involved. What the fuck was I supposed to say?” 

“Tezuka didn’t give you a head’s up?” Atobe said, distracted. He was standing in the middle of a bustling street in Kabuki-cho, trying to avoid hawkers as they shouted the name of their affiliated clubs and the hourly rates of said clubs. Some even offered discounts; a particularly brazen hoodlum with a ring through his nose offered twenty percent off the first hour. 

It seemed ridiculous that he’d ever come here, looking for what he did. And it seemed equally ridiculous that he’d been found out for it. 

“Of course he did. But they rang an hour after that and left multiple messages while I was in a meeting. I could probably counter sue for harassment. Never mind. I’ll figure something out. Where are you?” 

“What, like you’re not tracking my phone.” 

“I’m not your governess.” Oshitari seemed to read between the lines. “Just make sure you’re not being followed. I know you love screwing yourself, but maybe this is one fuckup we don’t need.” 

Finally, Atobe found the club, Prince’s, lit by a half-broken neon sign and thought about running away. 

“ _Okyaku-sama_! I didn’t think I’d see you again. Welcome. Shall I make you a drink?” 

In the dark pinkish half-light of the club’s reception area, a young man wearing a loose white shirt and tight dark denim trousers (because they weren’t selling a certain thing, just the promise of possibility). This young man was _young_. The last time Atobe had spoken to him, he’d mentioned failing his university entrance exams for the third time, which meant he was twenty. Twenty-one, at the most. Maybe it was this man who’d first weaponized honesty, leaving Atobe powerless to defend against likeminded onslaught.

And on a second look, this man looked nothing like Tezuka. His jaw too wide and stubborn. He didn’t wear glasses unless it was part of a schtick. His mouth was animated, possibly because he wasn’t used to speaking as much as he was used to sucking dick under the table.

That was uncharitable. But in the heat of the moment, Atobe had accepted a truth about himself and now he was having all sorts of trouble covering it up. Most days, he did fine. 

“I don’t want a drink. But I do need to speak to you.” 

The young man looked at him suspiciously. “No one’s been here to see me, and I haven’t called any magazines or whatever like that. Blogs.” The suspicion was heartening, it said that the guy wasn’t completely stupid, and was ergo unlikely to call _Friday_ or any other media outlet to try to get in on a quick payday. Once again, honesty won out. 

Atobe stuck his hands in his pockets and straightened up. He was, after all, here not out of shame or guilt, but rather to achieve a convenience, to exercise a privilege. “I’m not here to accuse you. I just want to talk.”

The man appeared to consider this and then he dinged a small bell on the counter top, and a moment later, someone else appeared. The man nodded to him. “Going for a smoke, take over for a couple of minutes.” To Atobe, he nodded, and Atobe only saw him out of the corner of his eye since he was staring determinedly at his shoes. “Come around the back.” 

The floor felt sticky as Atobe turned to go. He’d never have to come back here again. 

The back alley stank of stale piss and garbage. Still, the guy had taken enough smoke breaks to know exactly where to stand to save his shoes. He inhaled deeply from a freshly lit cigarette and exhaled, smoke obscuring his face. They stood touching elbows. “Want one?” 

“I don’t smoke.” 

“That’s right, I remember now. Can I call you Atobe-san?”

“I guess,” Atobe said. “You’re positive no one came to see you?” 

The guy nodded. “Positive. This place isn’t well known or controversial anyway. Just...kind of, sad. We lost our only hawker last week. We’re going to die here in the heart of Kabuki-cho with no one knowing who we are. But...you know, I was thinking of leaving anyway. Fuck university exams.” 

“Oh.” 

“Don’t look so sorry for me.” the guy smiled with one side of his mouth and Atobe wondered again how he’d ever made such a stupid mistake. “Do you want me to tell your old lady we’ve never fucked? If you give me her number I can send her a text.”

Atobe said, “We never did fuck. We just sat and talked and you watched me drink champagne. If you texted her that, I think it’d make things worse.” 

“I wouldn’t lie for you,” said the guy. “Not even if you paid me.” 

“How does that work, working as a host at a club and not lying?” 

“You really want to know?” 

“No.” Atobe shook his head. “I just came to give you this.” From his wallet, Atobe extracted a scrap of paper. “It’s an account at a bank in Kyoto—address on the back. It’ll be under your name, and I’ve deposited some funds. Take some of the money and go on vacation for a while. Out of the country. Backpacking in Thailand, maybe.” 

“And the rest of the money?” The guy took the scrap of paper and squirreled it away, as if he was afraid that Atobe would rescind his offer the moment he made it. 

“Keep it. But if you do something stupid with it like pay for university, then that’s on you.” 

The guy laughed. Suddenly, he’d become his own person and Atobe felt an odd relief wash over him, as if he’d just woken up from a drunken haze. “Ever been backpacking in Thailand, Atobe-san?” 

“No, too rough and ready for me.” 

It felt good to be himself again, admitting what he was, and what he wasn’t. 

The butler greeted him when he got home. If he smelled back alley garbage on Atobe’s clothes, he didn’t comment. The cook had had a bit of a family emergency so if he wanted something to eat, she’d left something for him (the butler) to put in the microwave and serve to the young master.

Thirty-three wasn’t exactly young. But most of these people changed his diapers.

“...And,” the butler started again, hesitantly. 

“What? Spit it out.” 

“Ms. Claudia called. She said you weren’t picking up your cell.”

Atobe checked his cell. He did have one missed call. Claudia wasn’t the type to nag. Even now, he appreciated and liked that about her. “Did she say what she wanted?” 

“No, but she’d like you to call her back.” 

Atobe sighed and ran a hair through his hair. “I will, but later.” 

Atobe didn’t sleep in his childhood bedroom; it was one of those things that he remembered just now, and perhaps that was what made living at home bearable; Atobe couldn’t have admitted that to Tezuka. He outgrew several rooms in this house and they’d all been repurposed for something or the other. The house he’d slept in as a teenager was now a rec room with a pool table and a wide-screen TV and also housed remnants of Atobe’s other hobbies. Apparently, he was a great purveyor of hobbies, having gone through shogi, badminton, and even origami when he was about eleven. Tennis was good. Tennis had kept his attention for an inordinate amount of time, all through middle school. But then when he entered Hyotei’s high school division, he found himself devoting more and more time to his studies and eventually tennis became a hobby again. Mundane, like everything else in his life slowly losing its shine. 

Atobe felt a new, heavy wave of exhaustion come over him, a little like being covered with a thick warm blanket in a dark room. 

And then he fell asleep and dreamed of Berlin. 

Atobe didn’t feel awake. Or maybe he was, but everything seemed upside down. He still didn’t completely understand why he was sitting in a makeup artist’s chair being primped for a live TV appearance in twenty minutes. “I’m what?” 

“Suing _Friday_ for harassment.” Oshitari shrugged. “I made a few calls and Arina-chan at CTV had ten minutes she didn’t know what to do with. Thank me later.” 

“I thought you were _joking_.” Atobe groaned. He wanted to bury his face in his hands, but a stern poke between his shoulder blades made him sit up again. “Seriously. You’re sticking me on live television. Unscripted. With no warning. I pay you so I don’t have to do stuff like this.” 

“You used to be good at this shit,” Oshitari said, clapping him soundly on the shoulder. “Sure you’ll figure something out. You always perform well under pressure.” 

Mazaki Arina, the hostess of the show, had very nice legs that were hugged very intimately by her pantyhose. Atobe figured it was probably a pretty safe bet that he was only here suffering sunburn from studio lights because Oshitari wanted to get laid. Atobe tried to look engaged and interested as she spoke: “It was reported yesterday that you’ve filed a suit of your own against the gossip magazine _Friday_ for harassment, Atobe-san? Your wife—excuse me, ex-wife is currently suing the magazine for the publication of some intimate photographs taken at Bondi Beach taken about a year ago. Some of the photographs showed her being very...well, open with another man.” 

“I knew about him,” Atobe said. “So you can stop implying what you’re implying.” 

It’d been some time since he’d been on television. Sure, he sometimes was stuck giving soundbites to places like Bloomberg about the Dow Jones and its effects on the Japanese market, but usually he had plenty of time to prepare. 

Arina didn’t seem convinced. “But you’re getting divorced now.” 

“People get divorced for all sorts of reasons,” Atobe said. “And just because we are. We aren’t at each other’s throats. I would have sued _Friday_ regardless of my marital status. I think it’s unacceptable that they’re doing this to someone who I still care about. And so long as I can go on the record, Claudia is still my wife. The divorce hasn’t been finalized.” (He would have liked to tell her to fuck off.) “And no one gets away with treating my wife like that…”

Atobe was finally getting used to the bright lights around him, enough to notice that the cameraman standing nearest to him needed a shave, and that the production assistant standing next to him chewed her nails.

And Tezuka. 

Tezuka was clearly trying to blend into the crowd, almost hunching over some other journalist thumbing furiously at her phone. But despite Tezuka’s near absurdist efforts to make himself small, he was still staring very intently at Atobe, and for a moment, Atobe felt as if his bones were melting. He had a flashback to years ago, when his feet were pinned to the ground of the tennis court as he realized the ball would never go where he wanted it to go.

But they were both very far from a tennis court now. 

Atobe cleared his throat. “Anyway, _Friday_ has had a troubling pattern of violating other people’s privacy; I’d hardly be the first to state this as fact. Just look it up. I guess it’s just my turn now. And I do hope that this won’t happen to anyone else.” 

Atobe went outside for some air. It was a busy road outside, but it felt as if there was no air in the studio. Anywhere else would have been better. He sat down on a bench and breathed. 

“Thanks for doing that,” Tezuka’s voice said somewhere behind him. 

“I didn’t have much of a choice. I got into my car thinking I was going to work, but my driver drove me here.” 

Tezuka took a seat next to him, leaving a couple of inches of space between them. “There’s probably going to be a deluge of stories now thinking you’ll want to get back together with her. Not so good for Claudia’s image. Oshitari’s going to use that to renegotiate.”

“Should you be telling me that?” 

“It’s nothing that you don’t know already. And the rest of the country will know when it airs. It’s not exactly privileged information.” Tezuka stared straight ahead, but Atobe still felt heat radiating near his shoulder. “But between you and me, I thought I’d been fair.” 

“What’s _fair_ got to do with it?” Atobe laughed and the sound was ugly. 

“Maybe nothing. But Claudia does want to put this behind her. Don’t you?” Tezuka turned his head a fraction. “And you’re hardly one to talk about fairness when you ran her last lawyer out.” 

“I’m glad he did. If _that_ was what scared him off,” Atobe scoffed. “She deserves better.” 

“Well, I’m not going to quit.” 

Somehow, it seemed like Tezuka was speaking about something else. 

“Tezuka, I…” Atobe opened his mouth to speak, he wasn’t sure what he wanted to say, but maybe he was pretty good at making things up. 

Oshitari said, striding up to both of them, “What are you talking to my client about?” 

Tezuka stood up abruptly, the motion tense and practiced. “Nothing. About how things aren’t fair. I have to get going.” 

“Well, not exactly,” Atobe said, but then maybe he thought that he should have kept his mouth shut. 

Oshitari stared at Tezuka’s back as he went, and paid special attention to the way the man raised his arm to hail a taxi. Atobe did the same. The joint and the movement was still stiff from a very old injury. They’d both seen it clear as day, and they were both never going to talk about it. Atobe looked down at his shoes and Oshitari suddenly became interested in his nails. 

Finally, Oshitari made a sound in his throat. “I think that went well. Don’t you?”


	3. Chapter 3

Legal proceedings moved slowly, at a glacial pace. This was perhaps why Oshitari sued _Friday_ , to give himself more to do. A week passed. And then another. Atobe had a text from Tezuka that he’d found a new apartment in Kichijoji but not too near his parents. 

Atobe texted back after a reasonable delay of about seven hours enquiring after pictures. He was sent the listing of the property, which _— that doesn’t count. I assume you’re sleeping in your new apartment. Besides four walls, what else has it got? Don’t be obtuse._

Atobe put his phone away again as Oshitari waved him into the office. 

“Look, maybe we should just move on to depositions,” Oshitari said finally, rubbing hard at his temples. “If you want the publishing house shares so bad, and she seems to want them so bad, then maybe we have to make sure we keep them by brute force.” He rolled his eyes, as if he was incredulous at the words coming out of his own mouth. “Christ, this is like a couple arguing over a dog. Except it’s not even a dog, it’s _stocks_. I’m going to file a motion with the judge tomorrow. Get us a date.” 

“You sure that’s wise?” 

“Look, she keeps going on vacation with guys who aren’t you. You clearly don’t care, but other people do. Going by just evidence, we can’t lose. And you just went to bat for her on CTV. It’s not like I just did that to be altruistic, Atobe.” Oshitari leaned back in his chair and sighed. “I need a massage.” 

“Is that why I went on a morning talk show? Because you need a massage?” 

Oshitari just looked at him. 

“...And going by not evidence?” Atobe raised his eyebrows. 

His phone pinged and Atobe glanced at the screen again. A picture message, of a stove top with a couple of pots. One had rice in, and the other had chicken bubbling away in some sort of thick, dark brown sauce. Atobe was reminded that he hadn’t yet had dinner and it was close to eight in the evening already. Maybe he was hungry. 

_— That’s a lot of chicken._

Only a few seconds later, there was a reply: _— I went at the end of the day, I think the butcher was in a hurry to close up shop and didn’t weigh things correctly._

Atobe hid a small chuckle to himself, and then he tucked his phone away again. Though too late, Oshitari was already on guard. 

“And going not by evidence is not exactly...any of my business, until you make it my business, inevitably.” Oshitari gestured. “Who’s that?” 

“It’s. My mother?” Belatedly Atobe did a timezone calculation in his head, and figured he was safe as he could be. It’d be noon in Mallorca; his mother wasn’t just a trophy wife; she always got up at a decent time. Apparently at the villa, she did her own cooking (but not her own cleaning). One was more fun than the other. 

“Okay.” What Oshitari didn’t say was that Atobe and his mother didn’t exchange texts for no reason, and Atobe certainly never laughed whenever his mother sent him anything. 

Something else they never talked about.

“Okay so.” His phone was buzzing again and Atobe stopped himself from reaching for his phone again, since Oshitari was still watching him like a hawk. Atobe took a deep breath. “So you can go ahead and file. I went and did that thing, so we’re covered, right? Anyway, I’m off for the night.” 

Tezuka’s next text said: _— It is a lot of chicken. Mole doesn't sit well in the refrigerator. It gets grainy the next day_ said the next text from Tezuka. Atobe could see the man’s face looking despondent as he sent it. 

Then _— Do you want to come over for dinner? Have you eaten?_

_— You sound like my mother._ Tezuka didn’t in the least, but Atobe couldn’t exactly help himself. Mole chicken and rice was an odd choice for a midweek meal for a bachelor to break in his new pad. Actually, Atobe had no idea whether Tezuka was a bachelor or not. But so far, he had met the man a couple times and Tezuka hadn’t given any indication one way or the other; the only thing he had to go on was that Tezuka had recently relocated from abroad and that wasn’t easy to do when one was attached. 

No response. 

Atobe was tired and he hadn’t eaten. He also hadn’t had the wherewithal to seriously think through why he’d been invited to dinner. Perhaps that was better.

 _— Will you text me your address?_

The address came a moment later. But first, Atobe would direct his driver to a shop he knew that sold top-class spirits at all hours. 

“Housewarming gift, I insist.” Atobe headed Tezuka off when he opened the front door of his new apartment. The place smelled lethal like it’d recently been fumigated and then painted over. “Ever had this? I spent my sixteenth birthday in Berlin drinking a bottle of it and then throwing it back up the next day. It’s a point of pride.” 

“You couldn’t have gotten this when you were sixteen,” Tezuka said, as if Atobe’s pronouncement and his housewarming gift proved a tidal wave too much for him to handle, and he could hardly stand upright in the face of their presence. He adjusted his glasses and took the bottle from Atobe to study the yellow whole pear still stuck inside, and studied the label. And then he met Atobe’s eyes again. “Were you really in Berlin, then?” 

“Oh, come on, Tezuka. Is it because it’s distilled? I had a very accommodating _au pair_ who...was accommodating. You don’t get to play coy anymore, working for the likes of Baker & Baker.” Atobe rolled his eyes. 

Still, Tezuka stepped back to beckon him into the apartment and he should have declined, made up some excuse. Call his driver before he did something that Oshitari couldn’t help him sue away.

Atobe took off his shoes. He took a moment to note the other two pairs of shoes lined up neatly next to where he’d laid his own. A pair of black Oxfords for work, and a pair of sneakers for leisure, both Tezuka’s. “And yes, I was in Berlin. For a few months during the fall. Why?”

Tezuka held the bottle of fruit brandy at a strange angle, half cradling it, half holding it out, as if he was trying to figure out how to best brandish it as a talisman of some sort. “I was still at the clinic. We should have met up. I can’t think of why we didn’t.” 

Atobe thought _you’d stopped calling me by then._ But the moment he’d thought it, the (mostly) adult part of his brain admonished him for being childish and stupid. Out loud, he wondered. “Would you have wanted to see me?” 

“I had trouble making friends in Germany,” Tezuka said, like there was nothing to it, like it was in the faraway past. “It would have been nice to see a friendly face. Hungry?” 

“I’m here now, aren’t I? Friendly or not.” ‘Friendly’ was not a word Atobe would have used to describe himself; not now, and certainly not twenty years ago. “But yeah, starving.” 

It wasn’t that Atobe didn’t expect Tezuka to be a bad cook. In fact, Atobe expected the opposite, but he didn’t exactly expect Tezuka to be...a great cook.

It seemed unfair. 

“I promise it’s cooked through,” Tezuka said, catching his faintly suspicious look as Atobe stopped short of his second bite to examine what he’d been served. It certainly appeared to be pretty good quality chicken, even if the butcher had been in a hurry to leave. 

There was still a stack of boxes pushed into the corner of what was probably meant to be the sitting room. For now, they ate on a card table sitting on two folding chairs, which apparently Tezuka borrowed from his office while he was still shopping around for furniture. 

“...It’s just, this is great.” Atobe said, feeling a bit pained. 

“Well, then don’t sound so surprised.”

“I’m not surprised, I’m just…” Atobe looked around for an excuse, anything to change the subject. He found nothing and made something up: “Why don’t you just hire a decorator? And don’t tell me you can’t afford it.” 

“I’ve been here two days, barely unpacked my kitchen.” Tezuka shrugged. “It’s not like I’ll be home much.” 

“Hire a decorator anyway,” Atobe said. “It won’t hurt. You can use the guy who did my office, and then it’ll be like you’ve never left the office.” 

“It will when I have to move out again,” Tezuka countered, and then stopped, turning his attention back to his own meal and away from Atobe. 

Atobe couldn’t help but roll his eyes again as he reached for his drink. “Moving out already, Tezuka? You’ve only moved in.” 

“I’m only renting this place month to month,” Tezuka told him. “I was sick of staying at the ryokan.” 

Atobe smirked. “Is the firm footing the bill for this too? I’d say hire a cleaner off the back of that, but you don’t look like you need one yet.” 

Tezuka studied him intently, with a spoonful of rice covered over with sauce. His expression was exactly half-comprehensible—as if he knew what Atobe was trying to worm out of him and on that basis, he was trying to decide his own spin. “Of course not. I don’t relish it, you know. I’m not like you.” 

“I…” The chicken was good, moist, tender, and the rice was fluffy and cooked to perfection, although it hadn’t looked like Tezuka used a rice cooker, which somehow made the feat more impressive and unfair, again. But his mouth felt dry and he’d probably forgotten how to swallow. Somehow, Atobe managed before he attempted to speak again, “Of _course_ you’re not like me. In what way? You know, so I can feel properly insulted, and then not take it personally. That’s about on brand for me, yes?” 

Tezuka shrugged. “I don’t like having more money than I know what to do with. My parents won’t take my money, so I just keep inviting them out to dinner.” 

Well, Atobe could feel more relaxed now, even if the dingy chair he was sitting on disallowed him such a luxury. It was nice to know that some things about Tezuka still hadn’t changed. That the man was stubborn as ever in his own way. “Rent a helicopter and whisk them off to Sapporo for a wild night out? Buy your significant other all the roses from your favorite florist’s? Buy stocks in sometimes stupid until they appreciate? Or depreciate to such a point that you’d have no choice but to cut your losses and resume living like a pauper.” He gestured expansively over the width of the card table, which perhaps belied his point rather than supported it. “The possibilities are endless.” 

While it hadn’t taken Atobe terribly long to rattle off a number of ways Tezuka could squander his newfound fortune, the man looked faintly overwhelmed and had to take a moment. To buy more time, Tezuka took off his glasses to give them a polish. 

He seemed so engrossed in the task that Atobe was drawn into it too. It took Atobe another moment to realize that he’d never seen Tezuka without his glasses. Not even when he’d brought the man to his knees on the court, in what he thought was abject humiliation. But not only had Tezuka not lost his cool, he’d gotten back up again. Glasses and all. 

Finally, Tezuka seemed to collect himself enough to put his glasses on again. “How much do you think I make? And is that a veiled offer to lend me your helicopter?”

“Normally, I’m a generous man. But we had to sell ours. And isn’t the whole point to get you to frivolously spend money? What’s the use of you getting something for free?” Atobe shrugged. “I know how much Oshitari makes me pad his bank account every month. And I know he’ll want a percentage when we get _Friday_ to pay us damages. You’re certainly not broke if I’m in the ballpark. Imagine if you were a famous sports star. You wouldn’t know what to do with yourself.”

On second thought, perhaps that was a dumb thing to say. 

“You mean _if_ ,” was all Tezuka said, “if we get _Friday_ to pay out damages.”

“When have you ever known me to lose?” Atobe smiled, baring his teeth. “You should ask for a percentage too, if you haven’t already.” 

Tezuka put down his utensils and shut his eyes, tilting his head up towards the ceiling as if he was offering a sincere, desperate prayer to the gods. When he spoke next, his voice was soft, “You did that for Claudia once, didn’t you?”

“Did what?” 

“Bought out all the roses from her favorite florist’s. She showed me an article from some garden magazine.”

“Oh that. That was years ago, but if it was in a magazine I probably did. They’d never lie for my benefit.” 

Tezuka appeared thoughtful. “I don’t think they could have lied if they wanted to, it did look nice, if ostentatious.” 

Atobe laughed shortly. “You’d think that, yes.” 

Their eyes met across the card table again, and Atobe was struck by something in Tezuka’s expression. Like the man suddenly understood him after all this time, and hated what he saw. 

Tezuka asked, “Want a drink? We could open your fruit brandy. I don’t drink alone.” 

Tezuka poured Atobe fruit brandy in a tumbler (those were the only glasses he had to hand for the moment, as he also used them for milk and juice to accompany his breakfast before he left for work in the morning. This was weird in and of itself, but no less weird than everything else that’d descended upon his life recently. 

“I’m sorry I can’t offer you anywhere else more comfortable to sit.” Tezuka was watching him again as he settled into his chair once more with his own drink. Conspicuously, he’d poured himself less. 

“Nonsense,” Atobe said, holding in a wince. His spine protested the opposite, but he was mostly fine really. “Besides, you enjoy seeing me in distress.” The true cause of Atobe’s distress was more that the fruit brandy was not exactly how he’d remembered it. How did he get away with drinking all that? The short answer would be that he didn’t, but things were often more complicated than that. 

Tezuka looked mildly interested. “...Do I?”

Atobe stared back. “Why else would you represent Claudia in her divorce?” 

There it was, the question that had taken its time to fester and eat through him like acid until it’d eaten him inside and out. Now that Atobe had asked it, he didn’t feel better. Not that he thought he would. 

“Because I needed a client of a certain caliber to secure partnership at Baker & Baker. Claudia fit the bill, not necessarily because she was your wife.” Tezuka gulped down the rest of his drink at a terrific speed, only to pour himself more. Atobe hadn’t long had Tezuka as a drinking companion, but this seemed wildly out of character. Tezuka sat holding his tumbler as he continued, “And when she approached me, she already knew who I was. She said I hadn’t looked like how she’d imagined and if I was curious as to what she meant, I could go see for myself.”

_Oh, shit._

“...And.” Atobe cleared his throat. “Did you go see for yourself?” Had the circumstances been otherwise, he might have been immensely interested just for the comedy value of it all; the likes of Tezuka Kunimitsu traipsing around Kabuki-cho on the lookout for some dingy club.

Tezuka seemed surprised that such an obvious question would be asked. “That’d also be gauche. And even if you don’t believe me, that was one part of you that I...”

Atobe waited with bated breath. When Tezuka didn’t go on, Atobe prodded him under the table. “You started, so you might as well finish. I’ve never known you to be shy.” 

Instead of speaking, Tezuka got up from his chair, taking care that it didn’t scrape the floor as he headed into the kitchen. When he didn’t return within a few minutes, Atobe bit the bullet and headed in there too. It seemed funnier than usual that out of all the rooms Tezuka could have organized in his apartment, he chose the kitchen. But once Atobe thought about it some more, it made a lot of sense. Maybe the guy just didn’t want to starve to death. 

“I couldn’t even speak to you for a long time after they gave me the real prognosis about my shoulder. At first I thought I’d just hate you. But I couldn’t. Not properly. Can I start there?” 

Atobe leaned against the doorway to Tezuka’s kitchen and watched as the man moved about the cramped space clearing up the clutter on his stovetop and transferring the leftover foodstuffs into plastic containers to put in the fridge. He’d never once thought of Tezuka Kunimitsu as a person who was anxious or indeed, thought on his feet (except when he was on the court), but twenty years was a long time, and sometimes, people didn’t like to think of how they’d changed. 

Recently, Atobe thought he’d started to come to terms with that. 

“You can start anywhere you’d like, Tezuka. Just...stop moving, all right. It’s making my head hurt.” Atobe finally stepped up and touched Tezuka’s shoulder. It was not his bum shoulder, but still, it was enough to bring the man to a complete standstill.

And suddenly, they were face to face again, with only a little space between them. There’d always been something between them. A net; continents, oceans, a big fat divorce, personal ethics, other lives simply far out of reach from where they were now. 

Atobe slid his palm flat down the slope of Tezuka’s shoulder, down his arm, tracing his fingers over the guilty curve of Tezuka’s elbow, stopping finally, to grip his hand around his wrist. He felt the man’s pulse, steady and firm. 

Tezuka said, “I didn’t think you had that much to drink. Perhaps you should have some water, if your head hurts.” 

Atobe snorted. “I think I’m beginning to get your sense of humor.” 

Through the grip he had on Tezuka, Atobe could feel the man thinking, his muscles tensing and then going lax again, as he tried to think through what would be the next best step for him to take. It was almost familiar. But then, Tezuka appeared to have come to a decision, breaking Atobe’s hold on him, only to trail his thumb briefly down Atobe’s palm before letting his hand drop again.

But this time, Tezuka didn’t move. Atobe didn’t either, neither forwards nor backwards. 

“For the record, he didn’t look much like you, and the only thing I did was drink champagne with him. And it was only a couple of times, when work was...going kind of shit.” It felt silly to come up with an excuse now, of all times. 

Tezuka said, thinking for a moment, “Claudia said that the only reason you didn’t want to sign a prenup was because you didn’t want to explain your personal lives to a lawyer; that it was all your own business. If it was only champagne, then I don’t really understand.” 

“It was um.” Something was stuck in Atobe's throat. “Because it was only champagne and not anything worse. Usually, I don’t mind worse; hell, everyone knows I don't mind worse. And because I didn’t tell her. This was different, I see that now.” 

Tezuka said, “Oh.” A glimmer of something was creeping into his expression. Maybe he'd realized. 

“So you know, now you know all my dirty secrets.” Atobe mostly tried his best to keep his voice light. Maybe he did need to drink some water. “You can still screw me if you want; make it front paged news. I’m sure that’ll really cement your place at the new job.” 

Tezuka said, “I’m not that kind of person.”

“Yeah, I get that.” 

Tezuka added, “I mean, not yet.” 

Atobe touched his shoulder again, and this time Tezuka didn’t flinch away from him. If it were any other time and place, he would have taken it as some sort of sign. But now he had a better hold of himself. Atobe said, “I’m going now. Thanks for dinner.” 

On the way home, Atobe texted Oshitari _— Changed my mind. Don’t file._

A moment later, he received a reply _— Lol I told you so._

Then, not thirty seconds later _— Wait. Please tell me the two of you didn't fuck._

Atobe smirked and tucked his phone back in his pocket. Now that was a text that could stand to wait until morning.

“I’m sorry I never rang you back. It’s been an interesting few weeks.” Atobe stood up when a woman approached his usual table at a small bistro near his work. He and Claudia probably both ate here enough to buy a few minutes' worth of privacy. She sat down, and waved away the offer for a menu but said she’d have a cup of coffee. 

“Don’t worry about it. I’m still kind of on cloud nine that you said you cared about me on _Mazaki Morning Show_. To the whole country.” 

“Yes, that was pretty ostentatious of me.” Atobe looked away from her briefly. “Sorry.” 

“I thought that was sweet." She laughed. "And I could almost buy that you were saying about me, even though you weren’t. But I’m glad you get it now.” 

“Go ahead, hit me where it hurts.” He made a face, though he was not ashamed. 

Claudia smiled, her lips were so red today that it matched her hair. “I will. I’ve made it clear to Tezuka-san that I want the publishing house shares. A respectable corporate type shouldn’t really be seen with them anyway. I’m doing you a favor.” 

Atobe rolled his eyes. “Tell that to Oshitari.” In both senses of the word. 

“Besides, Keigo, you already have everything that you could want.” 

Atobe made a noncommittal sound in his throat and nodded. He turned his head to look out the window, where the clear sky was an honest shade of blue.


End file.
